


I Keep On Falling... And Falling

by aliciutza



Series: Death is not a Lover - Oh yes He is [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hades and Persephone Mythology Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Demon Sex, Demon!Jon, F/M, Forbidden Love, Hunter!Daenerys, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, eating the box, plot as thicc as Jon's ass, that's how the cool kids say it right, the demon sex that was promised, titty sucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-07 15:37:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18236870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/pseuds/aliciutza
Summary: Jon's visits to the surface haven't gone unnoticed. Things escalate and secrets are just waiting to be uncovered. Still, the Lord Commander of Hell makes time for his favourite Hunter.





	I Keep On Falling... And Falling

**Author's Note:**

> I... I am going to save all my thoughts for the end notes, now enjoy the update, dammit! As always, huge thanks to [atetheredmind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atetheredmind/pseuds/atetheredmind) for her top notch quick beta work and her love and friendship :sobs: and to everyone who still cared about this fic and encouraged me! Ok fine, I'll stfu. Enjoy!

He watched Daenerys sleep, for how long he couldn’t tell — his time perception much different than that of a mortal — concentrating on the way her chest rose and fell with every deep breath she took, her eyes moving left and right behind her lids, proof of her deep sleep. With a wave of his hand, half of the candles he had previously conjured disappeared, the glow of the few remaining ones barely illuminating the area around the bed.

  


He could not stop staring at her, taking in her features: her small nose, her long lashes, the curve of her lips, the way her now dry hair curled in soft waves, her small breasts, her muscular thighs. He was no artist, but by now he was certain he could draw her only from memory. She looked otherworldly like this, the perfect image of the Maiden, innocent but deadly if you got on her bad side.

  


He had been worried for her, the feeling so strong that it reminded him of his human self, when he used to worry about his sisters’ fates. Like a moth to a flame he had been doomed since the first moment he had laid eyes on her. He would have accused her of sorcery, just because he couldn’t stop thinking of her and desiring her, but Jon knew what hexes and curses felt like, and this was so far from it.  

  


She looked like one of the Targaryen queens he used to dream about in his childhood, her striking features so rare these days. But the Targaryens were supposed to be no more, gone along with House Stark and most of the great houses of the Seven Kingdoms.

  


He remembered Maester Aemon’s stories about his long lost niece, living her life across the Narrow Sea, married to some awful Khal. She had disappeared just as mysteriously as she had appeared — some said she had died in childbirth, some said she had killed herself when she gave birth to a monster, and others said that Joffrey the Tyrant had her killed. Jon didn’t know what to think; he had certainly heard and seen worse in his second life, yet for some reason, his mind couldn’t conceive either of those ends for her. Maybe that Daenerys or her child had somehow survived, saving the Targaryen line. He’d thought himself silly, getting lost in theories, as Sam would probably start if he knew about Daenerys. Regardless, he couldn't bring himself to care enough to ask her. He could only care that she was here and that their paths had finally crossed.

  


He inched closer to her relaxed form, her body heat a welcome change from his usual empty bed. He knew no sleep nor hunger, not in the usual mortal sense anyway, but he couldn’t recall feeling so relaxed in his entire human life. He supposed the bed in the Lord Commander’s tower was more for fucking than anything else, though he hadn’t used it for that purpose, not even once, since he took over his duties. Sometimes, he would lay there, thinking of his human life, contemplating the mistakes that ultimately led him to his accursed position. It served no purpose, other than to torture him, but he welcomed it all.

  


_‘For the Watch—’_

  


She stirred, brows furrowed and fists clenched — he wondered what creature she was fighting in her dream. Jon hugged her against his chest, silencing the voice inside his head that suggested the creature was him. Daenerys relaxed as he drew delicate shapes on her lower back, through the thin cheap sheet.

  


Earlier, he had put on a nonchalant front, teasing her that she hadn’t contacted him in two weeks. What she did not know was just how much longer the wait felt for him. He wondered at times whether she also had moments when she spiralled, thinking that he was maybe using her for some ulterior motive, thinking how unnatural their relationship was. He kept as busy as he could, but also available enough so he could reach her in a moment, were she to call upon him. By the start of the second week, he was desperate to see her again, even from afar. If it was meant to be a test — no doubt, he had failed miserably.

  


She’d surprised him, yet again, when she’d called his name in rapture, still riding the aftershocks of the orgasm she had given to herself. He swallowed, mouth watering just by recalling the image of Daenerys sprawled on the bed, cunt dripping, his for the taking. The tether to her was so strong he couldn’t resist the pull even if he wanted —not that he did. Inexplicable and peculiar, for he had been tempted before by people and creatures of the night, yet none had invaded his mind like Daenerys could. It called to a hidden part of his old self, buried so deep inside, that he thought it lost forever, more potent than any force he had felt in his afterlife. It frightened and intrigued him, already his mind could not even conceive the notion of losing her, yet he had no time to dwell on it, for terror had gripped him when she had cried in pain.

  


He wouldn't even know how to describe how he felt in those moments, her mortality weighing hard on what was left of his soul, how it could all be over in seconds. If it had been any single one of his brothers that had hurt her… he took a deep calming breath — rage was all-consuming, his preferred state of mind, but not around her. Just as quickly as the flames of his choler threatened to consume him, fear doused him in ice cold water.

  


He squeezed her closer, the thought of being separated from her enough to make him entertain ways he could get out of his fate. Since he had been turned, he hadn’t even thought of it — _what was there to return to?_ His family dead, his first love dead, his brothers from the Watch already in Hell with him. But now… _now_ , maybe it was worth looking into finding a _solution_ . Time was their greatest enemy — compared to his immortality, she was but a second of happiness, a drop of water in a well. _Where had she been all this time? Why now? Why him?_ His lips touched her temple softly — his very own Targaryen warrior queen, defying all his expectations, riding Westeros of monsters and protector of the realm. He grinned, remembering her face when she told him not only that she had come face to face with the Ghost of High Heart, but that she had survived and laid her old soul to rest.

  


To his annoyance, he felt a familiar pull at his mind — although not even half as strong as Dany’s — and he knew he had to act quickly. He got up without disturbing her, hastily dressed and went back to his tower. Just as he had expected, Melisandre was waiting for him, sprawled on his bed, her red hair and dress a familiar unwelcomed contrast to the black motif of the room.

  


“You were gone,” she remarked.

  


He ignored her and went to fix his tie in the mirror.

  


“For quite some time,” she continued, now propped on her forearms, the split of her velvet dress giving him a peek of her unnatural white thighs through the reflection in the mirror.

  


“Aye,” he eventually added, eyes trained on his tie, adjusting the collar to fit the new knot.

  


Eventually, the priestess pushed herself up to serve herself to some of the wine he always had in his chambers, one of the few things he still consumed in the afterlife.

  


“Have you given more thought to my offer?”

  


Jon sighed, involuntarily rolling his eyes. This wasn’t something he wanted to discuss any time soon, least of all now.

  


“We must act with haste, I am almost sure I am right. You can do it, Jon.” His eyes snapped at her. She cowered under his stern gaze, “There’s no other but you, _my Lord_ . It was _you_ I saw in my last moments.”

  


He refused the glass she offered him and turned away from the mirror, pulling on the cuffs of his shirt.

  


“ _Almost_ does not suffice for me to have a claim and act upon it. _Almost_ will bring my demise if _He_ comes back. I told you to make sure He isn’t coming back.”

  


“I am doing that! It’s just… not as easy as it looks,” Melisandre cringed.

  


He hoped she would drop the topic, seeing as she had nothing new to tell him. She came closer, bringing a hand up to touch his face, but she retracted it when his eyes turned black. “It’s the second time you’ve been to the surface in such a short time. What prompted it?”

  


“Are you asking me for a report?”

  


“No,” she quickly added, “just… mere curiosity.” She narrowed her eyes and leaned in, “What's that sweet smell?”

  


He went to pour himself some wine, just to get away from her. Jon heard her take a sharp inhale.

  


“I thought you didn’t like women like that,” she suddenly huffed, her hands trembling.

  


“No, I said I didn’t like _you_ like that,” he corrected her, sipping his wine. He had to get back. Soon, Dany would wake up and he wanted to be there — he had left no note, nothing.  

  


“You can’t be serious!” The glass shattered in her hands, wine and dark crimson blood mixing and dripping on his bedroom floor. “Now is not the time for you to get distracted.”

  


He raised his brows, unfazed by Mel’s usual antics. “You’d just rather I’d be distracted by _you_.”

  


Her hands were shaking, “Things are moving again up North and we need to be prepared for what’s to come. And you… you’re just wasting precious time balls deep in some random human cu—”

  


She didn’t even get to properly finish her phrase before his right hand closed around her neck as his glass collided with the floor. He shoved her hard against the wall. She might not be easily killed, but she could still feel pain.

  


He squeezed hard enough to see her face turn purple, “You do not want to anger me, Melisandre.”

  


He pushed her up, dragging her against the wall, her feet dangling in the air; she desperately scratched at his arm.

  


“Do not forget just how disposable you are. There are more red priestesses than I care for. Do you think you’re _special_ just because we knew each other in the previous life?”

  


He squeezed harder, her desperate gasps feeding something primal in him. Disgusted, he eventually let go of her, throwing her body on the ground. She heaved and coughed, her ruby burning at her neck, her eyes red as her hair.  

  


“Get out of my sight. And do your fookin’ job.”

  


He snapped his fingers, sending her back to her temple. He may come to regret that, but Mel needed to be put in her place. He was getting tired of her obsession with him, constantly trying to make him something he was not, seeking him out, sometimes appearing naked in his bed; he always refused her, only when she was too insistent did he resort to sending her back to Asshai or somewhere else far away. She always came back, meek and apologetic, begging for his attention, and he always took her back.

  


Jon drank the last of his wine and just as he was about to leave, Sam knocked on the already opened door, “I see Melisandre has already been here,” Sam motioned to the mess on the floor. Jon simply shrugged. “Do you have a moment?”

  


“Just one.”

  


“I may have found something in one of Commander Mormont’s diaries,” Sam entered the room, one of the small, thick leather bound journals in his right hand.

  


Jon stared at his friend expectantly.

  


“There is a bizarre omission in this tome right here—” Sam opened the diary where a yellow thin ribbon rested in between the pages “—at first I thought it was just some mistake, but the more I read, the more I was convinced that it must be a voluntary omission.”

  


“How much did he skip?” Jon skimmed through the tome.

  


“This is the first one with omissions; it started small, he skipped a few moments of the day, here and there, then a day, and by the end he had skipped three entire days.”

  


“Are you sure he didn’t just skip his boring days?”

  


“I thought so too. And then I thought that he was maybe getting old and forgetful, since after this there are only two tomes left from his life at the Wall. Yet… it feels too intentional.”

  


Jon handed him the diary, “This is good, Sam. Well done. Keep reading and make notes of what he skipped, we may need to do more research than I initially thought.”

  


“Are you finally going to tell me why we are suddenly so interested in the Old Bear’s hobby of writing down every single boring moment of his boring life?”

  


“In due time. I need to leave.”

  


Sam gave him a pointed look, but shook his head, “I will see you when I see you.”

  


He hurried back to Dany, but not before grabbing a flower from the vase resting on his desk.

  


Jon found her in the same position, resting on her right side, the sheet tangled in between her legs, barely covering her round arse. He partially drew open one of the curtains, the first rays of light lazily trickling in the small decayed room, chasing away the darkness, inch by inch.

  


He moved to the empty side of the bed and carefully rested the rose on the nightstand. He hastily undressed himself, eager to join her under the sheet. She didn't stir as he moulded his body to hers — she was burning hot, no wonder she could sleep naked despite the chill that had crept into the room. He inhaled the small patch of skin behind her ear, the cheap hotel shampoo scent barely lingering over the aroma that was so typically hers, burnt charcoal, the sea and lilacs. His cock stirred, already fully erect against his lower belly; he was torn between pinning her down and fucking her raw or punishing himself to a slow pace, just so he could enjoy her more. He didn’t dwell on it, closing his lips around that spot behind her ear, the taste of her skin making him forget his recent outburst and worries.

  


She pushed into him, although whether it was pure instinct or intentional he had no idea. He continued licking her neck, his open mouth kisses turning to small bites, his breath ragged and laboured, his cock hard and weeping for her touch, grinding against her arse cheeks, rubbing it against her cleft just so. His hand reached for her left breast, massaging it, squeezing it in search of that fine line between pain and pleasure, until her nipples hardened and he captured it between his thumb and index finger, rubbing, squeezing and pulling — her sudden gasp the only encouragement he needed to continue.

  


His hand followed the path from her stiff nipple to her cunt, already opening like a flower, her lower lips plump and full of want; he barely grazed her clit and he earned an audible hiss. He sunk his teeth into her shoulder, needing to leave a mark, to make sure she was his and his only, his fingers parting her already slick folds. He was desperate to taste her again, to feel her thighs closing around his head like a vise, to feel her cunt exploding in his mouth — the sweetest reward for the sweetest task he had ever had the honour of performing.

  


She reached behind, touching him, closing her small fingers around his cock, the pressure of her strokes a welcomed torture. She shifted to gain better access and, with a swift adjustment, impaled herself with him; their moans came out in unison, the perfect harmony — and she was all around him, the sensations so unique to the feel of her cunt he wondered if R’hllor himself had ever felt such pleasure. They moved lewdly, his cock almost coming all the way out of her, before plunging in to the hilt, in and out, and slower, and slower. The fingers of his left hand caressed her thigh upwards, until they eventually latched onto her hip, leaving indentations in her milky white skin, pushing her down against him to meet his slow moves. Dany turned her head towards him, blindly begging for a kiss, and he met her halfway, nibbling on her lower lip, her tongue darting into his mouth, ever demanding.

  


He needed more of her, it wasn’t enough to satiate the beast inside of him. He pushed into his right hand, steadying her with his left, until he was on his knees, hovering over her lithe figure. He kept her on her right side, steadying her in the same position when she tried moving. Still, she twisted at the waist to look at him, grabbed his face and bite his jaw. Jon moaned against her lips when she eventually took his mouth in a slow kiss, shooting straight for whatever was left of his heart, suddenly the weight of his feelings too much to bear.

  


He pushed into her, the familiar jerky rhythm of his crotch against her arse anchoring him to the present, his arms on each side of her body keeping himself up enough to keep him sane. He dipped his head to the breast that was closest to him, grazing the hardened peak with his teeth, latching onto her nipple like a hungry pup, demanding and insatiable. Her arse pushed back into him, asking for more, and he obliged. He sucked and pulled, before releasing her nipple with a pop, then latching onto her neck, just under her jaw, leaving more bite marks; _mine, mine, mine,_ an obsessive chant inside his mind.

  


“Gods”, she breathed, her cunt fluttering around his cock — he knew it would be any second now that she’d let go, cover him in her sweet honey. Something compelled him to pull out and in a second his mouth was covering her cunt, tongue digging deep, slurping whatever dripped from her.

  


He had moved a lot, yet she had barely changed positions since he jumped into the bed. He laved at her slit, from her cleft to her clit, sucking and licking, fucking her with his tongue, and if this was somehow his last day in this cursed world, he couldn’t think of a better way to go, trapped in between her thighs, her cunt gushing in his mouth like the ripest peach, fingers digging into his scalp, pulling on his hair like a lifeline. She moaned again, something inintelligible. The beast inside him showed its head, growling against her cunt, drinking up her release like it had been the Gods’ nectar.

  


He stopped to stare into her hazy eyes, “Say my name,” he demanded in between sharp licks against her clit, “ _only mine_.” He resumed his meal, her thighs and belly erratically quivering against him with the power of another impending orgasm.

  


“Jon, yes. Jon,” she managed in between moans.

  


He went at it harder, insatiable, his cock begging for his attention, yet he couldn’t tear his mouth off her cunt. She came a second time, soaking his face all the way down his chin and chest, even some of his hair.

  


“Please, I can’t…” she begged. One of these days he would test her limits, see how many times he could make her come just with his tongue before she passed out from pleasure, but today was not the day. He licked her clean, unwilling to let anything go to waste, and wiggled free from between her legs. He pushed her onto her belly, adjusting her wobbly figure — arse slightly up, her cunt still open to receive him in one swift thrust. Her entire body shifted up with the movement when he pushed into her to the hilt, her fingers digging into the sheets for purchase, her words muffled by the matress, her face hidden under all her silver mane. She took everything he gave her, eventually pushing on her forearms and adjusting herself in a proper position on her knees, his cock never leaving her.

  


Jon brought up his right foot, pushing his knee up for more stability. When she pushed harder against him, he didn’t hesitate to close his left hand around her neck and pull on her towards him. She tilted her head upwards, her eyes rolling inside her head with the force of another orgasm. He broke, something about one of her hands going to rub her clit and the other closing tighter against his wrist making him snap. His vision blurred, his balls tightened and he finally emptied his seed in her.

  


She leaned back against his chest, the simple gesture tugging at his heart again. He pretended not to notice how much harder it was to leave her after such moments.

  


Dany lowered her head, planting small kisses on the hand he still loosely had around her neck. She turned to look into his eyes, and she was smiling at him — a smile so bright, it could warm the entire land beyond the Wall.

  


“That’s one way to wake up,” she quipped.

  


He chuckled, “I couldn’t wait any longer, I apologise, you should probably rest,” yet he squeezed her closer and planted a kiss on the side of her head.

  


“No apologies for _that_ ,” she shook her head, wriggling out of his hold. His still hard cock slipped out of her, their mixed juices oozing out of her cunt, trailing down her inner thigh, on the already soaked sheets, just under her knees. She pulled him down to the mattress, still in his embrace, her back pressed against his chest.

  


His fingers mindlessly caressed her thigh and belly, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. “I felt bad for leaving you alone,” he eventually added.

  


Dany turned in his arms to face him, “So you did leave.”

  


“You noticed?”

  


“Well, I…” she ducked her head under his chin, her breath tickling his chest, “let’s say I felt the bed was empty at one point.”

  


Jon pulled her closer, nuzzling her cheek, “Lord Commander duties, love.” She hummed in agreement. His eyes darted to the night stand, “I brought you something so you’d forgive me.” He reached for the blue rose and gently touched its petals against the soft skin of her shoulder — the gentlest of caresses.  

  


“You brought me flowers? The Lord Commander of Hell bringing flowers to apologise to his girlfriend. You’re such a romantic,” she teased. Dany took the flower from his hand and brought it to her nose.

  


“ _Girlfriend_?” he asked, a large grin plastered on his face, the term ridiculously endearing.

  


“Mhm,” she hid behind the rose, suddenly so interesting it required her full attention.

  


“A long time ago, blue roses were considered the symbol of true love. Some even claimed they had magical properties. I don’t know about that,” he chuckled. “But they only grow at the Wall and in Winterfell. I always have some in my tower, they… remind me of home.”

  


“Thank you, Jon, it’s beautiful.” She reached up to kiss him — a swift press of her plush lips against his. “Winterfell — is that where you grew up?”

  


“ _Aye_.” His smile was full of sorrow. “It was a lifetime ago, and now everyone is dead,” he swallowed, old wounds resurfacing, just waiting to bleed again — they had killed his family and had desecrated his home. He pushed it all down, in the depths of his mind, where such memories belonged.

  


“I am so sorry, I know how that feels,” she added, placing the rose on the pillow behind her and turning to face him. “Are you the last of your family?”

  


“In a sense, I suppose, though I do not bear my father’s name. I am no longer who I used to be, it all changed when I took my vows.”

  


“The Night’s Watch?” she caressed his cheek, and he closed his eyes, the sensation so unfamiliar yet comforting. Jon nodded. He almost missed it when she whispered, “How does one become a demon?”

  


One of the questions he had dreaded finally out in the air, weighing on his chest.

  


“Different ways. But if you’re asking how _I_ became a demon, I am afraid it’s a rather sad and disappointing story.”

  


She waited for him to speak again.

  


He eventually opened his eyes, “I was but a green boy, about a century ago, thinking I wasn’t loved enough, wanting to prove myself; a bastard, a stain on my honorable father’s reputation. I begged him to let me make a name of myself, find my own purpose. So I joined the Night’s Watch. I thought it would bring meaning to my life, that it would make father proud. He eventually relented, and off I went, thinking my luck had suddenly turned. That was the last time I saw my family, before they all met their tragic end in some part of Westeros. As have I…” he gulped, blinking away all the memories of his past life, of his father’s last words, of Arya’s smile and his brothers’ laughter.

  


She gently squeezed his biceps to pull him back to the present.

  


“It was nothing like I thought it would be. I was naive, but I had no place to go back — so I stayed, took my vows and did my best. I knew Lord Commander Mormont for a few years, worked as his steward. When he died, I was somehow chosen as the one to take his place — it was more of a curse than a blessing, I can assure you.” The last words he’d heard echoed in his mind, _For the Watch—_

  


“In my brothers’ eyes, I made the wrong decisions, so they punished me for it…” The implication was enough of an explanation.

  


Dany touched the crescent moon shaped scar above his heart, proof of his past mistakes.

  


“It still doesn’t explain why you’re a demon...” she worried her bottom lip, still caressing his chest.

  


He grimaced. “There’s this legend about the Night’s Watch — Old Nan used to tell us once you’ve sworn yourself to it, you’re bound in perpetuity. No one really believed it, not even the Watch itself, not anymore at least… And then I died. I woke up in Hell, feeling like myself, but somehow very different — all my dead brothers there with me, together with Lord Commander Mormont.”

  


“They tricked you,” she accused, her fingers digging into his skin, eyes big and full of fire against those that had wronged him.

  


“Well, it is right there in our vows, I guess we just never took it seriously.”

  


“But... but you died. You have a right to rest in peace. What’s the point in living if—”

  


“Dany,” he hushed her with a finger against her lips, “It’s all in the past. It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s too late for me.”

  


“But the Night’s Watch still exists and people still take the vows. You can’t just let them sign up for an eternity of—”

 

He shook his head. “Monsters are real. Things that go bump in the night have always existed, regardless if people believed in them or not. It is the way of the world, and the Watch has its purpose and duty. There are things bigger than us out there.”

  


“What’s that even supposed to mean?” she pulled back.

  


“There is something happening in the Realm of the Dead. Rumours of factions wanting to overthrow the current power system, rumours of something coming to change it all, key players disappearing, and I—I don’t know what to do.”

  


“You needn’t do anything, the King should be concerned with such things.” He almost corrected her. But he didn’t want to have to explain more of what had been plaguing his mind every single moment for the past decade.

  


“I promise, I will tell you everything soon. For the moment, the less you know, the better.”

  


“I guess I can’t blame you for hiding certain things from me…” she trailed off, eyes focused on his scars.

  


He hooked his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up, “I beg of you, trust me on this. I can’t be worrying about you more than I already do. Knowledge is power, but it can also expose you to certain risks.”

  


“I do trust you,” she frowned. “But one day we'll have to tell each other everything.”

  


He nodded and pulled her closer. “How are you feeling? Any more pain?”

  


“Oh, you mean besides the one between my legs?”

  


“You need to tell me if I'm being too rough—”

  


“I was actually thinking we could kick it up a notch,” she dove her teeth into the skin just above his nipple.

  


“Daenerys…” he warned.

  


“I liked it when you called me ‘Dany’,” she dug her teeth deeper.

  


“Dany. Don't start something you can't finish…”

  


Her eyes shot up, burning into his, “Watch me.” Next he knew, she was pinning him down and he was at her mercy.

  


**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, it's been... almost five months... yikes. I am not going to apologise, if you follow me on [tumblr](http://adecila.tumblr.com)(hiiii how are ya, drop by!) you know that I wasn't avoiding this fic, just stuff happened and this got pushed down on the to do list (ask my friends about my famous to do lists written in 4 languages). 
> 
> I will try to be more consistent in updating, seeing as I have no other current WIPs, but life is busy, work is draining and inspiration seems to elude us when we need it most, and I am also beta to a few people. I'd rather surprise drop an update than promise and not deliver on time. 
> 
> Also, seen as the plot is coming along nicely, I cannot promise smut for every chapter, but hey, that would be boring.... I'd rather we play a game of denial for a bit, see how good that smut is going to be when it happens again (not saying this is the last smut in a long time, I just want it to be clear that I will do smut when it naturally occurs). I gotchu, don't worry.
> 
> Until the next time,  
> Alice


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